tes_sandboxfandomcom-20200213-history
User blog:Psychomantis108/The Legend of Nirn: Oblivion's Call - Chapter 1: A lust for closure
Hello Sandboxers! Well, here we are again, my second blog series. Unlike MoM, this is an entirely new prose that runs alongside the Legend of Nirn RP, following Agatha's side project as she searches for something far more important than Nirn itself. This story will feature characters from previous RPs and stories, not going to say which ones but let's just say that I there's enough for new comers as well as LoN veterans. This first chapter is incredibly wrong but believe me, when I say that this is exactly as I intended, it's not padded by any means. xD Anyway, I hope it goes down well, as always feedback's appreciated, if any swearing or cursing is censored with a '*' it's because I did some of this at work and the work computers pick up on swears and inform the technicians, so I put that in as a placeholder. I've also ripped a pie directly from LoN, in case you notice the sudden dip in writing ability at one point during the story. I've also split the chapter up into sub chapters, to make it easier for people to read this in sections, if they prefer. Enjoy! ^.^ Prologue: Agatha's Regret “It is often said that the best people die young, that age leaves the door open to mistakes, which leads to regret, pain and infamy. It’s possible to live for ten-thousand years and dedicate an entire life to keeping the peace, protecting the innocent and bringing justice to those who have none. '' But all it takes is that one mistake, one miscalculation; one error in morality, a moment of selfishness, greed, self-righteousness or hopelessness and you can forever be remembered as a villain. '' '' I am fortunate enough to have survived two hundred years, I survived a number of crises, some of which I’ve even been responsible for. I care little for what image I have painted for myself during that time, the stories they tell of me are amusing to say the least.'' '' Some say that I wait in the shadows, waiting to kidnap and devour misbehaving children. Others say I’ve manipulated politics, traded with the Daedra, had my way with a Nord Cellmate, saved and destroyed lives in mere instances. Some of the stories are true, some of them aren’t and I find it more fun to never clarify which ones are true, which ones are exaggerated and which ones are pure fantasy.'' '' However, in spite of the fact that I care little for what the world thinks of me, I still find myself pondering on certain instances. I’ve experienced joy, triumphs, failures, pain, disappointment… Everyone does, it is a part of growing and is therefore expected. '' '' But what of regret? What of failure or weakness? I fear that I have regrets, regrets for my Daughter, fears that I made the wrong choices. '' '' The story of the Companions, Nish, Eilonwn, Tobias, J’harjo, C’laro, Rowan, Corelas, Bologra, Belwen, Manja and my own daughter, Lilly, is well known among the people of Tamriel but what of the story behind it?'' '' I have not told this tale before, so sit comfortably as you might learn something about having a ridiculously long lifespan. A tale of a mother, who failed her daughter. A centuries old pact, long since betrayed…'' '' My greatest shame…”'' '' '' Chapter 1.1: The Hybrid In the dead of night, an old plane in Skyrim lay bathed in the moonlight. There, at the center of it all, stood a wooden shack, the only thing man made in a six mile radius. The area was completely tranquil, no travellers could be seen on the road, the animals all slumbered or silently scuttled amidst their habitats having very little to fear, except the plane’s sole occupant. The tranquillity of the warn road was quickly broken as a large shadow was cast over it but only for a brief second. A shadow that was followed by the faint harks of crows in the distance as the birds returned to their nesting grounds. Screeches of descending birds became deafening as they hovered a few feet above the ground before swiftly swooping down, landing in a large, still heap on the floor and forming into one larger and much more solid form. Their black feathers moulded into a dark, brown robe, that was seemingly scrunched up on the floor until it began to move and slowly lift off of the ground as its owner materialised inside it, slowly rising to her feet. Agatha’s gauntleted hands quickly slipped out of her robes as she rose above the Breton who she had just saved. He lay before her, pale as the moon above, with several tears in his neck and upper body, blood still leaking from the wounds. She hadn’t bothered to check if he was dead or not as for now, it didn’t matter. What did matter was administering the potion before he re-animated in order for him to retain his humanity and be of use to her. The Witch promptly conjured a purple orb in her hand that she cast down to the ground, watching as it exploded on impact into a fiery purple aura, that spawned a demonic figure at its core. The creature’s details quickly came into view, revealing that the summoned entity was a Breton in a skin tight red and black outfit, his eyes were daedric, black veins pushing up, beneath his cheeks, grinning broadly and bearing his hideously decayed and deformed teeth. “Mactan, take the Breton inside, lay him on the bed.” She instructed, getting an obedient nod from the bound creature, who hobbled over to their side and scooped them up in their arms. Agatha didn’t even bother to check, since she trusted Mactan with her life, it was quite easy to put a lot of faith in a creature that was bound to you and had no free will, whose life depended on yours… The Breton stepped into her shack, making sure that she steered clear of the door as Mactan shambled in behind her, carrying the bundled Breton in his arms and lowering him down onto the bed. Agatha immediately rushed over to her alchemy table, snatching up the many items that she would need to hold off the curse. She began to crush a flower into her wooden alchemy dish, saving the most excruciating part of the potion for last. In truth, it was a regular cure disease potion, with a few twists to make it a little stronger; however, there was one ingredient that made it truly unique… Agatha took a carpenter’s knife from her left, whilst removing her gauntlet and exposing her frail, wrinkled, hands to the air for the first time that day. With a heavy sigh, she pressed the slight curve of the blade against her palm and hastily dragged it down, creating a small wound in her hand, that began to ooze blood almost instantly. The Witch then proceeded to close her fingers around the wound and crushed it, squeezing her blood out of it, like an orange and filling the potion up with one final ingredient. The blood of a Tira… As soon as her blood entered the potion bottle, Agatha immediately healed it with a spell before covering the hand up with her gauntlet. She then wrapped her metallic fingers around the bottle’s neck and slowly pulled it away, turning her head and fixing her red eyes on her half-vampire patient. The transformation was about to begin… Chapter 1.2: The Creation of a Legend Nish awoke, gasping for breath; he could see a wooden ceiling, lit only by a dull flickering candle. His hands were clutching the bed sheets, his whole body felt as if it was being rebooted and his brain was the switch. He could feel every nerve in his body coming alive and tingling. The sensation was not a pleasant one, it was both painful and unnerving and it went on for several minutes. "Oh good, you're awake..." A voice said, it came from across the room. Nish didn't have the strength to look up and see who it was. "You're lucky; few mortal men could withstand such an attack." The voice added. The voice sounded like that of an old woman, it was cold and quite lifeless with a bitter tone. "I don't feel like I've survived it..." Nish muttered, reaching for his forehead. "You didn't..." The voice agreed, "Technically you died seven times last night." "Seven?" Nish asked, though not in disbelief, he felt like everything that she was telling him was true. Nish finally had the strength to sit up; he rubbed his shoulders that still felt stiff. "Stiffness?" The old woman asked. "That's the rigamortis..." She explained. This news was of no comfort to Nish. "Am I walking corpse?" He asked her. "No, you are alive, as you were before. I had to use half of my inventory on you and I also broke half of the empire's laws in order to do it... but yes, you are alive." Nish looked to the old woman, she didn't look like the terrifying figure in the cave, she looked creepy and cold but in a different way and she still made him uneasy. She was a Breton, pale and haggard; her clothes were cheap and were covered in patches from where they had obviously been repaired. Her hair was unwashed and the skin around her eyes looked purple, her lips were chapped and her fingernails were cracked at differing lengths. "You're the one who saved me from those... things?" Nish asked, he then remembered; he was bitten by a vampire! He quickly reached for the bite mark on his neck, he felt something but it felt like it had healed over. "I cured you... Well, prevented you from turning." The woman explained. "What kind of alchemist are you?" Nish asked, fear in his voice. "The best kind..." She smirked. Nish tried to get out of bed, he didn't have the energy to stand yet, so he swivelled his feet around and dangled them over the side of the bed. "Okay... I'll bite, why'd you save me?" He asked bitterness in his tone. "Why? Why not? What makes you think that it was I who saved you?" The woman laughed. "Those eyes... The last thing I saw was your eyes..." "Something that you have in common with those fiends that were attacking you..." The woman added, bitterly. "You haven't answered my question..." Nish said, through gritted teeth. "Something is coming..." "I guess that this 'something' isn't Daniel Howe with a cart full of sweet rolls..." The old woman laughed, throwing her head back as she did. "You, I like..." She smirked. "Back to topic; I saved you, because you and the group that you established are my best chance of pursuing a... worthy rival." "Erm... 'Worthy rival?" Nish asked, in confusion. "Yes, a man of power who has awoken from a long slumber... inside the red mountain." She explained. "Who is this man? What is this man? How do I-" "So many questions from my 'champion..." she smirked. "Champion?' My arse, I haven't agreed to anything yet!" Nish protested. "Not even with your world at stake?" The woman picked up a serious tone and gazed into his eyes, making him uneasy. Nish groaned and put his head in his hands. "Why won't any of you thick skulled idiots listen to me?! I am not the bloody Dragon born! I'm not the Champion of Cyrodiil! I didn't save Daggerfall! I steal from people's pockets for a living! That's my life and I'm content with that! I don't need some moronic prophecy telling me that the gods of the fields are coming to destroy me for not appreciating them enough!" Nish snapped. "That makes you the perfect voice of reason..." The woman said, ending in a smile. "If this evil is so bad... then why don't you destroy it?" Nish asked her, bitterness in his tone. "Something more urgent demands my attention..." She replied, getting up and walking over to a table. "More urgent than saving Nirn?" Nish asked, leaning back. The woman laughed and placed her hand on the table. "Believe it or not... yes." Nish didn't want to know. "What do you need me to do?" Nish asked. "Nothing... yet. I'll contact you when the time is right. For now, continue living your existence as you normally would... when I need to collect your debt to me... you'll know about it." Nish shrugged; he got to live, so he wasn't complaining. "Now then, I believe that this belongs to you..." She showed him a familiar bow. "Sparky?' It's..." "Fixed? It needed several soul gems and some other components but it works." "Th-thanks... I don't know what to say." "You can start by saying 'thank you!' If you know what's good for you." The elderly woman snapped, nagging him like a grandmother. "Thank you... sorry, you haven't told me your name." "Agatha... Agatha Tira." Nish glared at her, he had heard a story of Agatha Tira before but everyone treated it as a fable or a legend. It wasn't true... was it? "Now, go and live your life, embrace every minute of it... loathe every detail..." Nish grabbed his gear and got dressed; he made his way over to the door. But then stopped... "Do you have a problem opening doors? I didn't see any signs of brain damage." Agatha laughed. "What was with the dreams?" Nish asked her. "Dream's'?" Agatha asked, raising an eyebrow. "As I recall child, I only interfered in one of your dreams." "Everyone in my group had such dreams, woke up with scratches all over their bodies." "Ah, a side effect of resisting the dream..." Agatha explained. "And I'm supposed to believe that you're innocent? After what you did to those... things." Nish spat. "Believe what you like, it is not my place, nor the place of any other to tell you what to believe." "I'm not sure what to believe..." Nish sighed. Agatha smiled at this response. "It is an old art; practiced by few... someone is trying to tell you something." She explained. "Who... and why?" Nish asked, looking over his shoulder. "Now that... is the right question." Nish turned back to the witch and thanked her again, before opening the door to her hut and proceeding out into the world. Chapter 1.3: Preperations With Nish’s release, Agatha was now able to begin her preparations for the next part of her plan as she wouldn’t need the Breton for some time. In spite of this, she kept a crow observing him, just in case he ran into trouble again, though it was highly unlikely that he would re-unite with his friends any time soon. Agatha would need to track down a dozen or so people of various skills in order to execute the next phase of her plan, though finding such people would be… challenging to say the least. Though it was easy to find people with that skill set, Agatha would need a certain mind set, an absence of fear, with very little or nothing to lose. In order to see this through, Agatha would need to track the most skilled and the most insane… Chapter 1.4: Jude All was as it should be in the Imperial City, besides the weather of course; down there a storm was raging outside, blowing a gale and creating a dim, gloomy atmosphere as nature swept up the many leaves that lay in the street that had been shed by the trees over the course of the autumn. The streets had been long since evacuated, merchandise had been dragged inside, so that it wouldn’t get swept up in the wind tunnel and many of the citizens were confound to their homes or whatever pub they happened to be trapped in. However, the Imperial City Guard were always on duty, no matter the weather, especially the Imperial Prison Guards. The shift had changed over an hour ago but due to the dangerous conditions outside, no one was able to leave the building, meaning that the switch couldn’t happen, much to the disappointment of the guardsmen, who had to watch over their newest tenant. At the enter of an isolated room, placed on a wooden chair, wrapped up in a straight jacket, dozens of chains and muzzled with a biter mask sat a young Dunmer man. In spite of the many precautions made to keep him down, he remained quite docile, not that he had much of a choice. Still, he sat patiently, humming softly to himself on a loop, repeating the same bars over and over again to entertain himself as the storm raged outside. His head had recently been shaved, discarding his flowing, orange locks but had regrown over the past few weeks that he had been in captivity. He had rather soft features but eyes that would cause any sane person to quiver, upon making contact with them. His ward was stood a few feet ahead of him, with his back to the Dunmer, trying to be as close to the window as possible, so that the sound of the seemingly never ending storm would drown out his annoying humming. The Imperial, a mid thirties brick in the wall, with a comb over that was hidden by his helmet, just looked up to the window with a heavy sigh, longing for freedom himself. His prisoner found it a little ironic, feeling like he was his jailor’s keeper as only one of them had any chance of freedom tonight, whilst the other awaited execution. Jude was wanted in almost every province in Tamriel for murder, theft, piracy, arson, assassination, smuggling, vandalism, grievous bodily harm, damage to property, sexual assault and tax evasion. Though that last one was really just a technicality as you don’t pay tax on money that you steal or gain through any other wrongdoings but apparently the law saw it differently. Judas or Jude as he preferred, hadn’t been arrested before, it was rather exciting for him, facing the noose. He’d hung someone once before but managed to make a pig’s ear of it, he ended up shooting them in the head, with an arrow to put them out of their misery. He just hoped that the Imperial City’s hangman was better at his job, not too good of course, he wouldn’t want his neck to be broken, where would the fun in that be? No, a few minutes of choking, a little rope burn, flailing of the legs and then off to whatever realm of Oblivion would have him. Jude was just waiting for his time at this point, not that he wanted to die, if he saw his chance to escape, he’d take it but it’s not like he could do much about it now. He’d just see where the river took him, as the Argonians would say… As he sat there, pondering on it all, he noticed that another guardsman had entered, carrying a hot beverage. He could’ve sworn that he heard the kettle boil earlier but then again, there was a lot of whistling going on around here… The guardsman approached his comrade and placed the warm cup in his hand, still steaming from where it hadn’t long since been made, Jude had hoped that it was for him and was a little crestfallen, when he saw the Guard pass it to his comrade, who took it gracefully, wrapping his gauntleted hands around it as they turned their back on Jude. “Think it’s dying down?” The Guardsman asked, sounding a little put off by Jude’s marvellous singing voice. “Nah… Knowing our luck, this’ll be an all night thing.” The Guard sighed, looking up out of the window before turning his attention back to his mate. “Not that I’m complaining… Means I get some time off tomorrow.” “Guess there’s a silver lining after all…” The other guard agreed, taking a sip of his drink and scalding the tip of his tongue. “Yeah… Anything to get away from…” He then gestured to Jude as if he didn’t understand sign language or gestures of any kind. The Guard looked around, seemingly distracted by the Dunmer’s humming; he couldn’t help but smile at it, finding it… soothing on some level. “He’s been humming that bloody tune for four hours now; I’m surprised that his vocal chords haven’t given out.” The Guard sighed, taking a sip of his drink, whilst his comrade turned his attention back to him, trying to break eye contact from Jude as he gave him a flirtatious wink. “I don’t know, it’s… kinda nice…” “No, it’s not! Listening to those four bars over and over again is like having teeth pulled.” The Guard pouted, letting his frustrations surface for a brief moment before masking his grimace with his cup. “Could be worse, could be like the last bloke we had… Y’know, the one who wouldn’t stop crying, ended up pissing and shitting himself.” “Urgh… Don’t remind me…” The Guard uttered, practically begging his comrade to stop as he didn’t want to think about that, whilst drinking something that looked like the piss/shit concoction that the whiny arsehole created. “Mmmph!” The Dunmer called out, breaking out of his song to get his attention. “Speaking of which…” The Guard sighed as he turned back towards Jude, staring him down as he looked frantically at him. “What is it Dunmer?” “Mmmmmmph!” The Guard sighed and figured he’d have to remove his bite mask in order to hear him, not that he was worried of course, his head strap kept him from doing anything, once it had been removed. The Imperial got to work on the straps, fiddly little things, especially with his gauntlets on. The Guardsman promptly placed one of his fingers in his mouth and bit down on it, letting his hand slide out of the glove, so that he could drop it to the floor and undo the strap, eventually having to put his cup down and undo his other gauntlet, so that he could unbuckle the mask. He ended up gently tugging at his face plate as he undid the straps, eventually removing the mask and giving the vile prisoner a chance to speak. “What is it Dunmer!?” Jude just stared blankly at him, blinking a few times as he displayed honest confusion in his eyes. “What?” “You called.” “No I didn’t…” The Guard just glared at him, he’d tried playing that game before and it was just as annoying then. He sighed heavily and shook his head, kneeling down and picking up the piping hot beverage and holding it for a brief moment, wondering if it was worth it. After making his decision, the Guardsman pulled the cup back before thrusting it forward, unleashing its contents into Jude’s face, causing him to cry out in pain as it burned his skin, irritating it immensely. “You piece of f…” before Jude could even start his rant, the mask went back on and the buckles were re-adjusted. He continued his rant anyway, giving off a series of spiked muffles, boarder lining on screeches as he was regagged. Satisfied with his victory, the Guardsman turned back to his comrade, approaching him with a shrug. “He just wanted some refreshments.” He replied as Jude continued to scream out muffled death threats in the background. He re-joined him, standing with his arms folded as the two of them returned their attention to the howling winds outside. Or the lack thereof… “Hey… Would you look at that…” The Guardsman uttered, slowly approaching the window and looking out to a clear night’s sky, with only the faintest breeze on the air as the tempest had been satisfied. “Heh… Looks like we can go home afterall.” “Yeah, Densen had better hurry up, I’ve been on my feet since 9 this morning and I haven’t had a drink since lunch.” “To be fair, that’s your fault.” His comrade smirked, getting little more than a shrug in response. “Mmph!” “So… What’re you going to do with your free hours?” The Imperial asked, doing his best to ignore Jude. “Mmmph!” “Not sure… I think that Jen will want to visit her dad.” The Guardsman sighed, he could barely stand the old fart, if he wasn’t his wife’s old man, he probably would’ve punched him by now. “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmph!” “Well, that sounds… fun?” The Guardsman asked, not knowing much about his friend’s relationship with his father-in-law. “Mmmmm-mmmmmmm-mmmmm-mmmmmph!” “I think I’d rather listen to that arsehole’s humming than another one of that old bugger’s war stories.” He grumbled, doing his best to ignore that infernal Dunmer’s constant cries for attention, it was like being a bloody baby sitter sometimes; only the pay wasn’t as good, the hours were longer and babies don’t have teeth to rip your throat out with. “MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPH!” “Oh, well, you’ll get the rest of the day off.” His comrade uttered, not knowing what to say as he slowly looked up, hearing the flapping of wings as a bird hopped onto the windowsill, staring down at them both. This prompted the second guard to wander towards it, looking somewhat confused and intrigued by it, whilst the other one just grunted. “Bloody birds… We need bars on these windows.” He grumbled, though his words fell on deaf ears. “Mmmph, Mmmph, Mmmph-Mmmph-Mmmph, Mmmph-Mmmph-Mmmph-Mmmph, Mmmph, Mmmph!” “Hey…” The tea maker uttered, looking back to his comrade. “Is it me or is something up with that bird?” The other guard stepped forward, folding his arms as he re-adjusted his gauntlets, trying to see what the other guard was talking about. “What’dyou mean?” “Well, look at it, its eyes they… Glow.” He replied, breathlessly, seemingly amazed by the sight of it, though his comrade was still sceptical, somewhat glad that he didn’t drink the tea. “That’s just… torch light, reflecting.” The Guard snorted, shaking his head and turning back to Jude, who was wriggling around, like crazy inside his straight jacket, bound to his chair by his chains, resulting in very limited movement. “MMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPHHHH!” The Guardsman’s brow furrowed, he’d never seen Jude so… animated before, writhing around in his seat, tugging and straining against his binds, prompting his concern to grow as he slowly turned around, seeing that his friend was now frozen in place. “Joren… Get away from there…” He uttered, swiftly looking up as he saw the crow take off, immediately nose diving downwards and swooping towards the Imperial guard, followed by a waterfall of black feathers, which materialised into an entire murder of crows. Joren was completely engulfed in the large cluster of corvids, within the blink of an eye, only his outline could be seen as the birds pecked and clawed at his flesh. They didn’t stop here, immediately leaping off of him and swooping down upon Joren’s comrade, who drew his weapon and cut the first of them down before turning back to flee. However, in the time that it took for him to turn around, he too was lost to the swarm, knocked onto his front and torn apart at Jude’s feet. The Dunmer watched with mild curiosity, he couldn’t say that he was too fussed about being killed by killer crows as he was on death row anyway and that would be a much better cause of death than ‘hung until dead.’ He sat back and awaited his demise as it leapt off of his captors and smothered him from head to toe. Chapter 1.5: Lifted Within the blink of an eye, Jude found himself being removed from one chair and being placed in another as the birds scattered around him, swirling around the room and forming into a single being before his eyes. The Being was an elderly woman, Breton, looked like she would’ve been a looker in her day, still was a little bit of one in a weird way. Her red eyes were fixed on him, red eyes that were so devoid of humanity, that they made him feel uneasy and that, right there was an accomplishment… Jude looked from side to side, seeing that he was in some sort of shack but didn’t know much else about his location. He presumed that he wasn’t supposed to know, making this a somewhat exciting experience as he wasn’t sure if he had been rescued or kidnapped just yet. “Is this the afterlife? If so, I don’t get it…” The Dunmer said, his words were obviously muffled by his biter mask. He didn’t seem to care though as he immediately proceeded to look from side to side, where he noticed that there was a single bed, sheets stained in blood. He turned his gaze away from it, trying to focus on something more positive… The Breton didn’t seem very amused, she kept her eyes fixed on him, seemingly suspicious of him, Jude didn’t seem to care as he was used to that look, even if it did make his skin crawl. The Dunmer sat back and relaxed, gently tapping his feet on the floor, rhythmically as he felt that his hands were now free. He reached up and began to work on the straps of his biter mask, ignoring the scary witch lady for the time being. After some tedious fumbling, he managed to pull the mask off, letting it drop to the floor with a light thud as he threw his head back and took a deep breath. Gulping up as much of that fresh air as his lungs could store. After taking a moment to enjoy the little things, the Dunmer switched his gaze back onto the Witch, narrowing his eyes and leaning back as he got comfortable, wondering what was in store for him. “So…” He began, resting his ankle on his knee and his forearm on the back of his chair, letting his hand hang limply by his side. “What can I do for you?” He began, thinking that that was a good place to start. Chapter 1.6: Avernus and Kairi Deep underground, in Auridon, Summerset the Ancient Ayleid Ruin of Methdron sat completely desolate. Devoid of life or any signs that life has ever been there, the ruin’s crumbling walls sat as a testament to the once great Ayleid city, long since buried before their extinction. This ruin was often discarded as mere folk lore, the idea that the city ever existed seemed ludicrous to even the Eldest Altmer Scholars. Because of this, nobody had ever searched it and so, the spirits of its former inhabitants aimlessly wandered its hallways, drifting from corner to corner, searching for purpose or meaning. Its eternal tranquillity was supposed to last for an eternity, until it was eventually disturbed by the curiosity of an Altmer traveller and his Bosmeri Companion. Their appearance triggered the memories of the remnants, who still wished to defend their crumbling city and, having no way of taking on so many of them at once, the old scholar and his young assistant only had one option… “Run!” Kairi didn’t need prompting a second time, she simply darted after her Altmeri mentor, fleeing the floor of whaling ghosts that chased them. Kairi was a young Bosmer, around her late twenties, maybe early thirties. She had quite short cut blonde hair, with a flower tied in it that she had found some time before coming down into this tomb. Her companion was somewhat of the opposite, he was tall, like most Altmer, with short dark brown hair, with distinctive orange eyes. He looked incredibly young for his age but if you were to look at him, at his eyes or at his expression sometimes, you’d see the face of an old man, burdened with many regrets. A good look wasn’t possible right now though as the Altmer was sprinting for his life, glancing down to his companion, with a knowing smirk as he caught her eye and getting a gleeful smile as she and him linked hands. The two of them continued to sprint down the illuminated corridor, mere steps ahead of their pursuers, knowing that they were mere feet away from the door to the next chamber, where they could hopefully seal themselves inside, out of harm’s way. Seeing that the door was close, the Altmer drew a Welkynd stone from his pocket and held it up to the lock mechanism, prompting it to get to work and open the way for them both before they were left to the spirit’s mercy. The lock was feeling generous and got to work, swiftly opening the way for the two mer and leaving a path open for them to get inside the chamber. The Altmer then sped ahead, leaping into the chamber and turning back to his companion, beckoning her in. “C’mon, quickly!” He insisted, getting a nod in response as she leapt in herself, taking her friend’s hand in the process and being yanked inside, where she proceeded to do a slight skip before her Altmer friend fired a lightning spell at the Welkyrd stone, holding it open, frying it in the process and bringing the door to a close. The Altmer stumbled back, panting heavily in relief as he relaxed, admiring the near miss he had made as some Ectoplasm was leaking through the door, from where one of the spirits was crushed by its magic powered surface. “Well…” Kairi began, lifting her head up and stretching a little, giving the older Mer a slight grimace. “That… Could’ve gone better.” The Altmer smirked and began to dust himself off, these booby traps had been deactivate for a long time and had accumulated an ungodly amount of dust over the years, most of which landed on his robes. “I did tell you not to touch anything…” He reminded her, in a passive aggressive sort of manner, though there was a hint of mirth in his voice as well. “Including the wall?” Kairi asked, though her annoyance didn’t seem as facetious. “When does that rule not include the wall?” The Altmer chuckled, slowly looking up to the ceiling of the room as he began to look for a way out. The Bosmer shook her head, finally letting the tension go and smiling a little as she began to chuckle, she’d known Avernus for so long now, that she couldn’t stay mad at him for too long. Besides, it was her fault, he did say ‘don’t touch anything’ but how was she supposed to know that there was a pressure pad on that bit of wall? She was just amazed that she hadn’t stepped on it before they even got to that stage. Avernus had seemingly gotten distracted, without any warning he walked away from the conversation, not caring whether or not it was finished as he began to examine the ceiling, tilting his head from side to side so that he could see any crevices. Kairi knew better than to intervene, so she simply stood back and let him do his thing, she learned that that was the best thing that she could do in this situation as the man’s brain went a mile a minute, throwing dozens of brilliant theories out of his ears and disregarding them as mere babble. Her thoughts, being projected out loud, would only annoy the everloving shit out of him and she would prefer him to be in a good mood, whilst thinking of a way out. “Aha!” The Altmer chirped, spinning back around and giving his companion a grin, giving her the impression that he’d figured it out. It sounded and looked like a good sign. “I can see cracks in the ceiling, not just any cracks, huge ones! Which can only mean that they’re heavily exposed, which meeeeaaans….?” “That they’re at the surface?” The Bosmer asked, she wasn’t always sure, for all she knew, this was where the king took his daily dump. “I… Hope…” She added, hoping that she wasn’t stood in an Ayleid toilet. “Pretty much.” Avernus confirmed much to her relief as he turned around and glanced upwards, furrowing his brow. “But…” He began, immediately bringing Kairi’s hopes crashing down, prompting her to sigh heavily, just knowing that this was likely to result in her having to be the bate again or worse, having to do more running. “But?” She asked, almost pleadingly as if she didn’t truly want to hear it but she had to, like ripping off a scab. “But… In order to break it open, you’d need a great deal of magical or physical force being brought down on its most vulnerable spot… From above.” “Above as in…?” Kairi asked, getting a sense of dread but knowing Avernus, he always had a plan, further down the line, so she wasn’t too worried, just yet. “Above us as in… You can only open it from one side and it’s not the side that we’re on.” The Altmer explained, sighing heavily as he folded his arms and glanced up to the ceiling, resulting in Kairi rolling her eyes. “Okay, so new plan?” The Bosmer suggested, figuring that that meant that they were done with that way out, unless Avernus could teleport a statue or something up there and drop it from around thirty feet. “Normally, yeah but…” “But?” “Well…” Avernus began, running his hand through his hair before furiously scratching his head. “That’s… All that I can think of.” Kairi fell silent, glaring at him intently as if infuriated, though in truth she didn’t know exactly why, he was just as prepared for this as she was and it’s not like he planned to get stuck in here. “So, now what?” “Erm… Well, I guess I could have a look around and test the nearby walls for any kind of pressure pad.” “Like a secret passage way?” Kairi asked, wanting to get as involved as possible to get out of here as soon as possible. The Bosmer learned, long ago, that travelling with Avernus usually meant that you learned to ask the right questions. “More like booby traps, explosion is a quicker, less painful way to go than starving to death. So’s getting crushed, hell even impalement’s better than starving…” “You’re… Not serious?” Avernus shrugged, he didn’t seem at all phased by it, like he’d just missed an hourly carriage and would have to confine himself to waiting for the next one. Perhaps Kairi still hadn’t learned as much as she thought she had about him, over the last year or so of travelling together. She wouldn’t have thought that ‘give up’ was in Avernus’ vocabulary. The Altmer turned around and approached the nearest wall, crouching down a little before it as he began to examine it, lightly tapping it with his index finger to see if there was a pressure pad waiting for him. Whilst he did that, Kairi just stood around, folding her arms and staying at the center of the room, so that she couldn’t touch anything, still proceeding to scan the room with her eyes. As Kairi looked around, rather fruitlessly for any kind of an obvious sign of a pressure plate, she noticed that a slight scratching could be heard above them, leaking a trail of dust and small stones from it, which rained down upon her head, causing her to wince and stagger off to the side. “Hey, watch it!” She called out to Avernus, who seemingly ignored her as he continued to search for oblivion, prompting her to look up as she realised that she was stood under the large crack in the ceiling, the crack began to rain down a small amount of debris, crackling and crumbling as if it was giving way. Kairis stepped back, glancing over to her Altmeri mentor. “Avernus!” The Altmer looked around and saw exactly what she did, the ceiling was starting to crumble and cave in, resulting in him drawing a destruction spell, ready for whatever was coming their way. Before they knew it, the ceiling exploded, bursting into four large rock fragments, which fell down to the ground, with a heavy thud, causing the entire ruin to tremor as light poured in, through the ceiling, above. Avernus threw his head back, to examine it, narrowing his eyes as he tried to see what was above him, whilst Kairi just stood there, her mouth agape. The light soon faded from above as a large, dark, shadow was cast over it. A small flickering sound could be heard, coming from just above, sounding like a flame or… the flapping of wings. As Avernus took a step closer to Kairi, he found that an entire murder of crows swooped down through the crevice, seeming rampant and aggressive, eyes glowing red as they harked and cawed loudly, going straight for Kairi, like an eagle going for a lamb. “Kairi!” Avernus stepped in front of his petrified Bosmeri companion, wrapping himself around her as the crows began their attack. The two of them stood still as they found themselves to be engulfed in the swarm. The swarm got to work on them, completely obscuring them from view, for a few seconds before eventually breaking off and flying away, leaving no remains of them, where they once stood. The flock of birds took off, flying straight up into the sky and returning to their nesting grounds… Chapter 1.7: Leader of the Pack Lars’ eyes slowly opened, completely dull and unfeeling as his memories echoed inside his mind. Every night he’d fall asleep, holding onto his memories of Angela and his Father, Clan Ardwolf, not at its strongest but alive at least. He’d relive every agonising second, the pain of losing Angela, his apathy when his Father was driven over the edge, retreating like a coward, when that Orc and his Cannibal had made it to Crusader’s Rest. When asleep, he was taken away to the realm of dreams, lobotomized to the point that he had no concept of reality for a blissful eight hours, eight hours that would feel like nine seconds before the memories existed again, pulling him back into his depressing reality. And now, here he was. Lay awake, shirtless on a frosty cold morning, listening to the many birds begin their choir, rejoicing that they made it through the night. His song was a single note, a heavy sigh that was long drawn out, unheard by the entire world but everyone knew it well. Lars eventually sat himself up, gently rubbing his face with his large hands as he stopped to swing his legs over the side of the bed. His new family would need him up and ready, if they were to have a good start to the day. The young Nord slowly descended down the stairs of the Crovenhoft Inn to the mead hall, where he saw that the rest of the world was yet to join him. He didn’t mind as he enjoyed the silence, especially this early in the morning. He made himself a heated drink to calm himself, scanning the previous day’s Black Horse Courier as he did so. Though he was largely disinterested in the world’s struggles, he liked to make a note of them. The headlines were mostly ranting and raving about some trouble, out east, several villages appeared to have been attacked over the course of the last month or so by what could only be described as volcano or lava men. Lars just scoffed at the notion, not because he didn’t believe it but he just didn’t care. Morrowind was a long way off and he has nothing holding him down to this loathsome place. “Quite curious…” A voice noted, startling Lars as he cast his newspaper down to he desk and steadied himself. Immediately before him stood a heavily robed old woman, hood concealing the back of her head but her face was quite visible. Gauntleted arms hung by her side, made from similar material as her protective boots. Lars wrapped his hand around the handle of his axe, narrowing his eyes as he glared at the old woman before him, furrowing his brow as he got the impression that she wasn’t your average Breton, if she was a Breton at all. “Who are you!?” He demanded, his tone was harsh, prompting the Elderly Breton Witch to smirk, ever so slightly, giving a low chuckle that managed to unnerve him even more. “A patron, a mere traveller, who wishes for your assistance…” She replied, cryptic as always as it was more fun that way. Lars wasn’t buying it, he stood with an eyebrow raised, still keeping a tight grip of his axe. “Explain yourself!” He demanded, seemingly getting ready to cleave the large weapon into her skull, still, the Witch didn’t even flinch and merely stood, defiantly before him. “As I said… A mere traveller, who walks many forbidden roads. And I require your service.” “If you mean the inn, we’re closed…” Lars growled, in truth, he cared little about the customers, unlike his companions. “Oh? I was under the impression that inns were open twenty four hours a day or is that just my archaic way of thinking?” The Witch asked, staring the Nord down with her chilling, red eyes. “We… Do things differently here.” The Werewolf replied, shortly, turning away and approaching the counter behind him, drawing several ingredients as he got ready to make a drink. “What kind of service do you want? Food? Bed?” He asked, not knowing what other service they offered as they weren’t a Morrowind Corner Club, so prostitution was out of the question. “Protection…” The Witch replied, prompting the Nord to look around and glare at her, not having a clue as to what she meant, was she trying to hire him as a mercenary? He didn’t know if he should be honoured by that or insulted, he wasn’t much of a warrior anymore, more of an over glorified, grizzled den mother. “I think you’re in the wrong place.” He said, bluntly, turning his attention back to the recipe before him as he began to cut away at the remaining herbs. Though this did little in the way of deterring Agatha. “Lars Ardwolf, a lycanthrope warrior and the last of his kind. I am addressing you, no? So no mistake has been made…” “I am not a hired thug.” The Nord growled, throwing the knife down to the table, marching over to the counter and glaring at the Witch. “I am a clansman of Clan Ardwolf, son of Ymir Ardwolf and the sole inheritant of its legacy! I am not some whore with a sword!” He roared in her face, smashing his fist down on the table and causing the many glasses and copper goblets to fall over and roll around the desk, eventually falling to the floor. This strangely made Agatha’s mouth twitch into a slight smirk, seemingly satisfied with this answer but not in the way that he was expecting. “That is exactly what I am looking for… Pride. Proud to the point of being steadfast, your loyalty could not be bought by the temptations of a Daedric Prince, not without good enough reason…” “D-Daedric Prince?” Lars asked, believing that he must’ve misheard, was she some sort of cultist? It would make sense, seeing how haggard and enigmatic she was, who did she follow? Molag Bal? Namira? Vermina? “Oh, I see that I have you attention.” The Breton whispered, with a dark smile, taking a step closer towards the counter and gently placing her gauntleted hand on his shoulder. “I am about to lead my third expedition into the Realm of Oblivion, in order to take care of some… Personal business.” “Personal business? What sort of ‘business’ could you have with a Daedric monstrosity?” The Werewolf asked, finding himself suspicious of her vague nature and minorly annoyed by it. Agatha kept her eyes fixed on the Nord, slowly folding her gauntleted arms and staring him down. “Molag Bal and I have a long history together and he and my family have been at odds even longer. I cannot tell you what I plan to do in his realm but I can tell you that your werewolf blood, combined with your skills as a warrior and strong will, will be of crucial importance.” Lars jus scoffed, turning around and wandering over to the table again, to resume work on his food. “I’m not as strong as you think…” He uttered, finding little difficulty in admitting it as he continued to hop away. “Oh? Is the inheritance of the Ardwolf Clan a mere consolation prize these days?” The Witch asked, in her previous raspy voice sounding a lot less animated. She wasn’t looking for self-doubt, though she did expect it with Lars. The Nord glared at her, narrowing his eyes as he tightened his grip on his knife, barely resisting the urge to stab her in the throat and let her choke on those words as well as her own blood, however, he was restrained, not by his fear of the consequences or the morality of such a deed but more so the fact that he couldn’t kill her for being right. She had given him the opportunity to prove himself, to justify his existence and here he was, licking his own wounds like a whining pup. Lars drove his knife down, into the table and turned around, staring Agatha down for a brief moment as he considered her offer, though he didn’t need much by way of convincing from this, he had been in hiding for too long and though this wasn’t his fight, it would be more than wise to test his metal against some worthy foes before returning to assert his dominance. If the Werewolf could slay the minions of Molag Bal, then he could easily conquer any man, mer or beast that stood in his way, even unstoppable mountain of an Orc, Bologra Blackbeard. The Nord stopped to ponder on it a bit, though there wasn’t much to think about; he quickly looked up to her and gave her a confident nod. “I will join you, only on the condition that I work with you, not for you. If I disagree with your requests, I won’t hesitate to let it be known and refuse to execute any commands that I find disagreeable.” Agatha nodded, silently, she needed his arm, not his loyalty, though the latter would be nice as well, it would be wishful thinking to believe that she was capable of receiving both. “I’ll be in touch…” The Breton whispered, slowly turning around and walking away, her own footsteps were quickly drowned out by the thumping of muddy boots as a young woman appeared at the bottom of the stares, stepping out from the stairway, behind Lars. “Is everything okay?” She asked, peering around, just as Agatha slipped out of the front door, taking all traces of herself with her. “I could hear you shouting…” The Nord continued to glare, straight ahead, refusing to address her as he retreated deeper into his mind, thinking about the journey to come… Chapter 1.8: Millie Beneath Riften’s streets, deep within the complex and dangerous maze structure of the Rat Ways, an ongoing Rhythm came to a halt. An orchestra of dripping pipes and a dull blade, scratching against a stone, brick wall echoed throughout the tunnel. At the heart of this collaboration between inanimate objects and living people sat Millie, an Imperial Thief, biding her time in the sewers until she could find an opening. She had been chipping away at the walls for days now, there wasn’t any rhyme or reason to it, it just passed the time, though even she could see that she was doing more damage to her knife than she was to the wall. Millie’s amber eyes shifted onto the chalk tally she’d made in the corner, reminding herself that she had been trapped down here for two days now. Two days living on a stale bread roll and having to get creative in regards to hydrating herself. What the Imperial would’ve given to be stranded in the Flagon right now, instead she was stuck in the deepest, darkest, shittiest part of Tamriel, with feral cannibals waiting for her, ever so patiently, outside. It took them most of the first day to calm down, now they’ve dispersed a little, shuffling around and spasming violently as they tried to fill the silence with their insane grunts, some of which emulated laughter. All of it managed to creep Millie out, their eyes, their faces, so human but lacking the key features that make any face human, the look that they give her is like nothing she’d ever seen, it was like one of those nudists that hang around the market, after dark. She wondered if the other members of the guild were waiting for her or if they’d given her up for dead. Javek, Pol, Stefan, Ra-zhan, Manja, Slips-through-shadows and even the veteran members might be out looking for her, pigs might also be flying above the White Gold Tower, no, wait that one sounded a little too believable in comparison. Millie sighed heavily, though her depressed reaction was interrupted by the loud ‘clunk’ of the door, prompting her to swiftly turn around, gasping as she awaited further sounds. Had the cannibals figured out how to open doors? Urgh… That would just be her shitting luck at this point… The Imperial rose to her feet and tepidly moved over to the railings, peering down over the railings to see who the intruder was and if she knew them or not. The Imperial was quite surprised, she wasn’t a cannibal… at least, she didn’t think so. The Old Woman’s eyes were red, her skin was pale but her posture, something about her seemed a little more… restrained. Whether or not she was as inhuman as they were was questionable but at least she wasn’t a feral monster, assuming that she was a monster at all. Deciding that the frail old woman looked pretty helpless, stood at the center of the room, Millie considered going down to address her, to get her up there to safety. However, she wasn’t stupid, she knew that it was more than possible that she could be worse than the cannibals. They weren’t the only threats down here, there were many fruits, nutters and weird ones down here and then there were the not so docile crazies. As Millie stood, thinking about it, she heard a familiar gargle, coming from just ahead, prompting her to raise her head and gasp. The stupid old biddy didn’t shut the door behind her, now they were doubly screwed! Drawing her knife, the Imperial began to sneak around, she couldn’t save the old woman, not that she’d want to but she could use the feeding frenzy as a distraction to thin their numbers, hopefully making fleeing easier later down the line. The first of the cannibals sprinted into the room, coming to a halt as it saw the Elderly Breton before it, throwing its arms down to its side, giving a mixed pain and enraged howl as soon as it identified her as not being one of them. The Old Woman simply turned around, staring the creature down, defiantly as it began to pick up the pace. Though she barely even registered it, slowly lifting her arm up and opening up her gauntleted hand as an energy ball quickly formed in her palm. Within the blink of an eye the small energy ball erupted into a small, orange fireball, which fired straight into the creature’s chest, exploding into a huge fireball on impact, completely vaporizing the creature, leaving only its outline, drawn out with some smoky residue from its evaporated skin. “Holy shit!” Millie gasped, quickly covering her mouth, both of which were reflex reactions, she’d given her position away, so there was no point in doing anything else to try and curb her tongue further. The second of the Cannibals immediately followed through, charging around the corner and roaring, he was a large fellah, a Nord, built up on cakes and other sugary delights to the point that the water in his body had turned to fat. Either that or he’d found enough people to eat down here… He immediately charged at Agatha, seemingly not discouraged by the fate of the last Cannibal who tried it. The Witch just lowered her hand, charging up a blue energy ball in her palm and firing it at his feet as soon as the Cannibal came into view. The energy ball hit the Nord’s feet, sending a large serge of energy straight up his legs, causing him to shake violently, spasming from side to side, screaming his lungs out as his organs were turned to jelly and his brain began to boil inside his skull, building up enough pressure until his head exploded. Agatha seemed completely unfazed by the gory mess, barely even blinking as the Nord’s headless corpse fell down to the ground, with a heavy thud, simply shifting her gaze up as the third cannibal came barging into the room, a tortured looking Redguard, who looked starved. Shame that he wouldn’t find a meal here… Finding herself to be growing a little tired with the more creative spells, Agatha decided to finish this one off with an ice spike to the throat, it sunk deep inside its trachea, prompting the Redguard to start choking on his own blood as he stumbled forward, keeping his head held back, through no choice of his own as his blood bubbles inside his throat, quickly losing control until he fell to his knees and keeled over, pathetically expiring before his Breton killer, who looked down on him with contempt. “It seems that the Ratway has an infestation…” The Breton noted as if she hadn’t noticed until now, Mille would scoff and make a comment about her being too good for the Ratway but this woman was not clothed like a noble, in her over glorified rags. Agatha stepped deeper into the junction, placing her hands up her sleeves as she composed herself, she was pretty sure that three hundred year old Bretons weren’t supposed to be getting this much excitement in their day, normally because most three hundred year old Bretons are dead. “You may come out, I’ve already seen you.” The Witch announced, getting a confused frown from Millie as she felt something rather large swoop past her head, skimming her ear and making her jump out of her skin, leaping up to her feet as she stumbled back and a crow flew over her shoulder, straight to the safety of Agatha’s gauntlet. Millie stood up on shaky legs, she wasn’t a cannibal, so she didn’t have anything to fear, right? “You have good eyes for your age…” She uttered, getting a faint and dry chuckle from Agatha as she stood still, glaring at the Imperial with an unknown look, a calculating look of admiration, mixed with curiosity. “I have a lot of eyes, child and they’re very flexible…” She whispered, glancing over to the crow, perched on her metallic right arm, flicking her wrist and scaring it away, causing it to fly away, over to the corner of the room. “If you have so many eyes, then why put them down here? In this shit hole?” The Imperial asked, folding her arms and tilting a little as she thought on it. “Why not?” Agatha asked, taking a step closer to the Thief with a slight smirk. “It is often the case that our powers of imagination work better in darkness than in light, is it not? That survivors ten to be the ones with the most imagination, with ways of pushing the boundaries, breaking every rule that they can in order to cling to life.” Millie couldn’t help but look concerned, not liking where this was going, she’d done enough rule bending in order to survive, killing, stealing and… some things she wishes not to mention. Either way, it sounded like the Witch was trying to pitch her something… She could smell it. “Okay, what is it you want from me Granny? Want something nicked? Something smashed?” “A little of both.” The Breton replied, with a light smirk, glad that she was getting it rather quickly. Street smart people were often like that, quick to catch on, usually much quicker thinkers than booksmart people, making them perfect. “Okay…” Millie uttered, folding her arms and glaring at the Witch, it sounded… simple? “What does the job involve?” She decided to ask, realising that she couldn’t refuse, not exactly, not without being vaporized or worse. Agatha said nothing in response, stepping forward deeper into the tunnel and glancing up ahead, thinking on her phrasing. She didn’t exactly want to scare Millie away but lying to her may prove to have some less than ideal consequences. After making her decision, the Breton turned around to face her, eyes fixed on Millie’s as she stared her down. “I’m assembling a team to enter the realm of Oblivion, Coldharbour to be exact. I need skilled people of various talents, with special… qualities.” “Yeah… You might want to think again, there are better thieves than me lady.” The Imperial scoffed, taking a step back as she found herself to be somewhat doubtful of Agatha’s faith in her. She was certain that the Breton was tricking her somehow, though how much was she tricking her? Did she have a choice about stepping into this seemingly obvious trap? “There are better Witches than I, Amelia but here I am.” Agatha pointed out, getting a surprised and then angered glare from Millie. “W-wait, how do you know my name? Who are you?” “Agatha, Agatha Tira, a name that means nothing or everything, depending on the ears that it falls upon.” She replied, honestly, wrapping her arms around themselves, so that they were folded. “I’ve been watching these tunnels for some time, looking for a potential thief, who is capable of surviving the most brutal of conditions, who is able to utilize every resource available to them and bend the rules to maximize their efficiency. I believe that you are that Thief, calculating, resourceful and seemingly fearless. I’ve learned a lot about you, during that time and I’m hoping that I know enough about you to know that you couldn’t resist the temptation of marching straight into Oblivion.” “Why the hell would I want to do that?” The Imperial snapped, seeming both outraged and confused by that conclusion. Did she look insane? Well, she was hiding in a dark hole, drinking her own… Okay, she was insane but not that insane. “What the hell is in it for me!?” Agatha paused, smirking ever so slightly as she kept her gaze fixed on the Imperial… “Everything that is not bound to the floor.” Chapter 1.9: Execution “Stop, Murderer!” The Imperial’s commanding voice could be heard from the other side of the district as the Guard pursued the Dunmeri suspect through the Chorrol Market. “I said stop, fiend!” He snapped again, prompting the Dunmer to roll his eyes as he leapt over a box of apples, knocking them down to the ground with his hands. “I heard you the first time!” He called back, over his shoulder as the Guard leapt over the collapsed boxes, seemingly unfazed by the obstruction. If there was something worse than a murderer, it was a murderer with a smart mouth. He hoped to fix that problem after a few minutes of interrogation. Jude saw the large, rotten, tragic figure at the center of the town’s square, the fallen warrior and his lover, holding him affectionately as he lay limp in her arms. The Dunmer wasn’t too sure what the statue was meant to be, he got the impression that it was a war memorial of some sort and that the people were symbolic maybe? Symbollocks more like… He leapt up, over the stand and jumped onto the stand that the grieving widow wept upon, it’d been hundreds of years, you would’ve thought that the whiny filly would’ve gotten over it by now… Casting thoughts of the statue from his mind, Jude jumped down and landed with a thud, immediately followed by the quiet chinks of metallic grieves as he found himself to be surrounded by guardsmen, weapons drawn. It would seem that they actually planned ahead for once, using their man power to block off access to the gate. He would be impressed, if they hadn’t made it possible to dart off to the right from this point on. Shifting immediately, he made a sprint for the right, heading straight up towards the chapel. Passing Northern Goods and Trade, Jude kept up a good sprint as he made his way towards the chapel, if there were guards waiting for him there, he could beeline to one of the slummy houses opposite. Oh the irony of that… As Jude finally reached the chapel’s steps, he immediately noticed that he had come face to face with some guardsmen, who immediately stepped out of the grave yard and the slummy houses that he was hoping to hide inside in case this plan went to hell. “It’s over lawbreaker!” The Guard Captain announced, taking a step out from behind cover as the Guards from the gate caught up with him, arms at the ready, much to his annoyance. “Surrender your weapons and any stolen goods, then put your arms by your side and wait for further instructions.” The Captain ordered, getting little but a glare by way of response as the Dunmer was growing incredibly annoyed. “Pfft… How utterly boring that would be.” Jude pointed out, glancing up to the sky as something came to his attention, something shifting in the sky, in the top right hand corner of his eye. “Do you understand the gravity of this situation, Dunmer? You murdered and old man in the street!” He roared, pointing his sword at the Dunmer’s general direction. “I could have all of my men run you through, from every direction.” Jude’s eyes quickly fell down to the Guard Captain as a smirk lightly grew on his face and he reflected on his words. “Well, as much as I’d love to be your Dunmeri pin cushion, I’m afraid that I have to be off with Granny for tea…” The Guard Captain frowned, raising an eyebrow as he tightened his grip on his sword, growing frustrated with Jude’s childish behaviour. “What!?” Before Jude had the chance to explain himself, not that he would’ve, a huge black shadow was cast over the Guard Captain and those closest to him, blocking out the sun above them as the flapping of a thousand wings became prevalent. The Chorrol Captain’s head snapped back as he immediately looked to see the source of the disturbance, only to see a large cluster of bird feet flying inches away from his nose as they swooped down on Jude, who threw his arms wide and let them take him as they swarmed him head to toe. The Guardsmen could only watch as the Birds engulfed their prey, pulling him down to the ground, until he was an unidentifiable little ball at the center of the crowd. The Guardsman stepped back, waving his shield to try and convince his comrades to follow suit. The Crows feasted or whatever they were doing to the fugitive for a brief moment before they finally ended their feast. Without warning they immediately departed, taking off in a dozen different directions and leaving nothing behind. Chapter 1.95: The meeting The Crows materialised in Agatha’s shack, through the carefully cut hole in the roof, the Breton didn’t actually live here, so she had no desire waste time fixing it. That and it made an excellent entrance or emergency exit… The Breton slowly stepped away from Jude as he fell to the floor, with a heavy thud and an ‘oof.’ She didn’t seem to notice or care as she stepped into the designated ‘waiting room.’ There she saw Avernus, Millie and Kairi talking among themselves, Lars distancing himself as much as possible, like a sulking child in the corner of the room. He preferred the silence as oppose to the incessant drilling of forced chatter. “So, three spheres fall down from the ceiling and Kairi is still stuck in the pipe.” Avernus began as Millie’s eyes fell on his assistant as she began to wonder when she asked to hear this story, still, it passed the time she guessed. “The only way that she wouldn’t have gotten burned alive by a huge pipe-full of steam was to open the valve, just along the way but the problem was that I was trying to do it, whilst fencing with two out of three of the spheres.” “Wait, where was the third one?” Millie asked, suddenly finding herself curious, she might as well try to get invested. “Trying to break the valve and kill the intruder.” He said as if it was a minor detail, quickly lifting his hand. “Ah, right, so…” Jude stood up and furiously scratched the back of his head, looking around at his new ‘companions.’ Urgh… A bumbling old Altmer with attention deficit disorder, a nord who looked more like a shaved bear than a human, a probably stupid Bosmer, who was actually quite easy on the eye… and an Imperial, who definitely was stupid. On the plus side, he didn’t have anyone who would outshine him, well, except for… “I take it that you are all prepared to make the journey…” Agatha began, getting straight to the point as she saw no point in beating around the bush about it. Everyone looked over to her, Millie hadn’t honestly expected her to come back so quickly. “Erm… I am but…” Jude began, getting everyone’s attention as they turned to face him, finding themselves as he was seemingly the interloper in this situation as he was in every situation. “Couldn’t you have written first, sent a warning or something? I mean, me and that Guard Captain were getting along so well and now he’ll think I’m dead.” “If you would prefer me to return you back to the point of that Imperial’s sword, I’d be more than happy to do so.” The Breton offered, causing the Dunmer to retreat and fall silent, putting his blood soaked hands behind his back. “You are unarmed but don’t worry, I have procured a place of temporary accommodation, where you can rest and equip yourselves, whilst I prepare a portal.” “Great.” Avernus announced, clapping his hands together and rubbing them vigorously, with a grin, getting an exhausted look from everyone else, who either wished that they had that much enthusiasm or that he had less. “So, where we headed?” He decided to ask, realising that that question had yet to be answered. Agatha remained silent, stepping through the small crowd that had amassed in her living room before moving towards the front door, looking like she wasn’t going to say and was just going to ask them to follow her but eventually, she became self-aware enough to realise that this might look somewhat suspicious. “Castle Volkihar…” Category:Blog posts Category:The Legend of Nirn Category:Stories